The voice in his ears took on an unexpected wavering impassioned tone. Quavering as if the speaker was not merely playing the part but actually embodying the character inferred by the lead up of the descriptive passages. Real emotions of shock and horror at the unexpected discovery of the body of their dead loved one. The drama resident in the speakers mind taking on not only the intonation of the present speaker’s voice but that of another disembodied entity that the story line inferred. It had not impressed him, the power of it, until this present moment of bewitching hour in the height of the darkness of night. The sheets beneath the several layers cover were damp and hot about him making his body clammy cold as if they were the clingy wrapper of a shroud. The voice seemed to icily slice through him from tightened upper shoulders down through the kinetic unease of his underbelly. A chill inspiring a sense of weakness and vulnerability to the situation that the speaker had posed. “How would it be?” he wondered to be a forlorn maiden soon to be a ghost? To come upon one’s most cherished loved one and find them eternally inert and mortally damaged and then fall prey yourself to the murderous guile of a party unseen but simply momentarily detected? The searching coldness of the fingers of this October month seemed to reach through the Thermopane to caress portions of his body, back and legs. A thought once taken up under the right circumstances too easily becoming an obsession. The horror and fear in the tone of that well mocked voice passing over him like waves pun a distant empty beach at night. Taking life from him and transferring it to the fragment of the tale that lay stuck in his head since the previous afternoon. He pondered in his darkest feelings like a child. Could the speaker of this tale have been and enchantress?
Of course, such things simply did not exist! In an age far past the convincing artifice of industrial produced tales that were so numerous and routinely convincing that the hold that they may have first exerted upon one’s untrained consciousness might have been unshakable. Yet by the sheer weight of successive numbers overly diluted until a certain skepticism like hard shell was developed in the individual over time. No given tale or fantasy could by that point overwhelm the mental warehouse of long worn scripts and plot points that lay in the dusty corridors of the bygone fissures of one’s mind. The mentality of the viewer made immune beyond the initial instance of initial viewing of a hyper-real visual that though persuasive faded away and was filed like an old actor’s costume set in storage long after the production had been struck. Who indeed could really claim to be shocked or appalled anymore by some random bit of exotically simulated supposedly realistic movie violence? The tremor of the woman’s lament was like the bite of sharp edged glass running across him. “Could there be some rationale. . . ?“, he thought in the prospect of demonic possession? Of the power that certain well-placed individuals possessed to summon others in a manner that put them in hazard of being swept along through the barrier of time in consort with tales that they so artfully spun? A cold chill descended heavily upon him like a bucket of water unexpectedly loosed from above. An icy breeze crossing his cheek inviting him to rise and turn about to greet a presence that was inexplicable traveling towards him from behind. The mere thought of the possibility of any reality existing in this untoward spontaneous impression causing a sense of panic as if he was now somehow to be a victim found equally vulnerable as the ones what were legitimized by this errant tale that he found himself so pointedly focused upon. He turned about fearing to see an effigy of a hag approaching int he dark hallway behind him steadily approaching and unstoppable. The hellish thing summoned a that fatal hour of night when all manner of mischief was said to rise from its lair to confound the souls of mortal men.
The hall sat quiet and inert save for the inky blackness that the pictures and baseboard hardware seemed to fade gently within. He felt the near brush with his unreasoning fear still between hot and cold along his spine like the raised bristles of a hedgehog. What ever was summoned had swept by but had not landed. The swipe of an unearthly presence momentarily summoned by the construct of shat so obviously was a well-planned description of the inadvertent discovery of the end of mortality. That point in the reality of actual life when the persistent banality of uninterrupted entity suddenly takes flight and now is no longer to be seen or felt. The escape of another soul to who knows where? Part of him was jealous! Part of him was inspired. “Kudos!“, he thought to someone so adept as to bring so lasting an effect with the mere juxtaposition of commonly used words. But it wasn’t just words? Was it! This person had combined the power of her voice. A well-practiced instrument, no doubt. The passage of intervals in enunciating a phrase and then a sentence int he proper diminution of dramatic poise. “Perhaps?“, his mind related analytically. This unseeming elderly matron had a past hidden by the effect of the weight of the advance of so many decades that camouflaged what had been a dynamic personality in the full power of youthful adulthood. The power of the ingenue upon the flickering limelight of the stage to bring a house down with the concert of emotions conveyed by her extraordinary ability to play the interment of her own voice to a virtuoso level at will. A ‘black art‘ to be sure! Nothing more convincing to a fellow human than the persuasion of the intangible beauty of the free flow of youth in what always seems as an eternal presence. Though the looks had long descended into the wasted furrows of advancing age, the powers and the art that this elder maiden still possessed could still stun a crowd at will. “How odd?“, he thought, “That I could be so easily bewitched in a tale that could not have lasted for more that a score of minutes?” Perhaps there was something more in the holder of the voice that now seemed ingrained remotely betwixt his ears that could echo forth in so impassioned a manner as to remain unshakably in place. “Was this then not the fundamental basis for enchantment?“, his thoughts tumbled out. How many had been burned to ash in a mass of cord wood and thorny briars in times past for too freely exhibiting such a talent? The mood now having been settled he crawled back beneath the covers and set about the workman-like task to recover what portion of the night that he could before the approach of light heralding another day.